"It's glorious--it's grand!" cried the founder, excitedly. "Gil, your hand--nay, we don't shake hands now. Captain Carr, you could make a name as the greatest gunner in our land. Mace, my child, bravely fired. Why, that shell must have struck the high rocks, where the new ironstone lies." "Ay, it has," said Wat Kilby, who stood shading his eyes with his hand, as he gazed at the high precipitous rocks away behind the gabled house. "Quick, there, another shot!" cried the founder. "Mace, my child, art ready for another?" "Nay, father," she said quietly, and with a pained look in her eyes; "you should try this time." "Ay, lass, and I will," he cried, as he watched the sponging-out and reloading of the piece; while Mace, who little recked in that shot of what she had done for her future, stood now a spectator, instead of an actor in the scene. The piece was soon ready, and this time the shell was prepared by Gil himself, with a shorter fuse. "Lay her so that the shell may burst over the great charcoal-heap by the corner of the wood," said the founder; and, after exercising a great deal of care, Gil laid the piece quite to his satisfaction. "Now try," he said. "Ready!" "Ready," cried the founder. "Fire." The linstock was again applied; there was the same tremendous roar; the great piece leaped back several feet, and a few seconds later, _crash_! came the bursting of the shell once more, so near to the charcoal hill that the air was filled with the fragments that were scattered far. "A great success, Gil; you have won a prize," cried the founder, "one of those that the world will talk of a century hence; but hey-day! what's this?" There was the quick trampling of horses' feet, and at the end of a few seconds two horsemen came tearing along the track at full speed, their riders having apparently lost all control over their steeds. The first kept his seat, and tugged hard at the bridle; but the second was well on his horse's neck, to which he clung with all his might, his red face and his thickly-padded feather breeches showing that it was Sir Thomas Beckley, whose appearance was greeted by the founder with a roar of laughter. Gil hardly glanced at him, for the happy sunshine of the past hours seemed to have been clouded, as the frightened horses stopped of their own accord, and he saw that the first arrival was Sir Mark, whose horse, like that of the baronet, had been startled by the bursting shell. Volume 2, Chapter VIII. HOW SIR MARK'S MEN CAME TO GRIEF. "Confound you, fool," cried Sir Mark, leaping from his restive steed; and as he spoke his eyes rested upon Gil. "Have a care how you fire. Your blundering nearly cost worshipful Sir Thomas Beckley his life." Gil met his eye with a cold stare of defiance that made the hot blood dance in the other's veins. "It was I who fired the shell, Sir Mark," said the founder, curtly; "and it were well when I am trying my pieces if visitors gave notice of their coming."